Vincent Crabbe Saves Westeros
by Ynyr
Summary: After his humiliating death at the Battle of Hogwarts, Vincent Crabbe is given a second chance at life by the Gods. But can one simple Death Eater really change the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros for the better?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer** : (1) I do not own Harry Potter or Game of Thrones. (2) This is a story about an unrepentant Death Eater running amok in Westeros. Bad things will happen.

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Vincent Crabbe kept screaming for some time before he realized the pain of being burned alive had stopped. Rather than stand, the large wizard just laid on the ground, pressing his face and body against the wet grass. After a few minutes, he finally opened his eyes to see why grass was growing inside the Room of Requirements.

With a glance he knew why: this wasn't the Room of Requirements.

It was a forest. Well, a tiny forest surrounded by high red walls. That was odd, but so were a lot of other things. For example he was naked, and his robes and wand were gone. His body should have been covered with painful burns thanks to the Fiendfyre which escaped his control, but under the light of the full moon his skin seemed untouched.

While Vincent was carefully examining his fingers, two muggles wearing armor and carrying swords suddenly appeared at the gate in the wall that surrounded the tiny forest. Both began shouting gibberish at him in some foreign language. That shouting was just the start though, and soon they were kicking the shite out of him for no reason at all.

Normally the young wizard would have fought back, even without his wand, especially against muggles. Vincent was like that—he would fight with anyone at any time, because he thought fighting was great fun. But being burned alive by Fiendfyre… that experience had really screwed with his brain. You think you know how painful magical fire can be, but the reality is a thousand times worse.

So Vincent didn't put up a fight when the two muggles repeatedly kicked his naked body. Nor did he fight when they dragged him out of the tiny forest and into the red castle that surrounded it on all sides. The sight of a castle was kind of reassuring. It reminded him of Hogwarts, even though this place was clearly not Hogwarts. (It had the boring look of something built by the muggles.) The dark dungeon they tossed him into wasn't bad either, since he had lived in a dungeon for the past seven years. This shitehole was filthy and smelled foul, but at least it was safely underground.

Vincent laid there on the dirty floor for an hour or so. Then he got angry. Those kicks hurt. Maybe not as much as the Fiendfyre back in the Room of Requirement, but they still hurt. And he was naked. Vincent was a tad pudgy and he hated being naked, a personal weakness that made him even more angry.

With a great deal of effort the sore wizard got to his feet. There was another prisoner in the cell, but all he kept doing was spouting the same gibberish the others spoke. Vincent punched him in the jaw, and stripped the ragged clothes from his unconscious body. They were several sizes too small and covered with live insects, but it was still better than walking around naked.

The lock on the cell's wooden floor was made of cast iron. Luckily two strong hands and a pulse of not-so-accidental magic shattered it to pieces. Down at one end of the dungeon stood the two muggles, who were chatting away in gibberish. Vincent wanted to teach them a lesson, but those swords could kill a wizard without a wand. Instead he headed in the opposite direction. The door at the far end of the dungeon also had a lock, but again a mixture of strong hands and accidental magic shattered it.

Wandering through the dark tunnel he discovered was a breezy after seven years at Hogwarts. Experience taught that your eyes and hands weren't enough. You also had to use your ears and especially your nose. Different levels of a large castle have different smells, and even in this disgusting place Vincent could tell he was moving towards cleaner air.

After a few minutes the dark tunnel turned into a maze of hallways lit by burning torches. After his near-death experience even small fires made Vincent nervous, but he pressed on. Soon he found a narrow window. Outside was a huge city, but it looked nothing like the muggle cities he occasionally visited with his parents. This place reminded him of Hogsmeade, but on a much larger scale. Where in the name of Merlin's sweaty balls was he? And how did he get here? And who healed all his painful burns?

Answers to those questions would have to wait, unless he wanted to get tossed back in that dungeon. That wasn't going to happen, so Vincent set off down another hallway. He had to escape the red castle before sunrise brought out more armored muggles with more swords.

The next hallway brought a shock that made him forget about escaping for a moment. Just sitting there in the middle of a storeroom was the massive black skull of a dragon. The beast must have been twice the size of a Hungarian Horntail that almost ate Potter during the Triwizard Tournament.

And it seemed to be humming with magic, even though it had been dead for at least a decade. Vincent was drawn to it. Before he could stop himself, he found his hands running over the smooth black bone. It felt good. It felt like being back at Hogwarts.

Of course another one of those muggles had to ruin it for him. Just hearing that stupid gibberish again made Vincent's blood boil. Without thinking he yanked a slightly-curved fragment of the dragon's eye socket away from the rest of the skull. It was about ten inches long, and it felt warm in his hand.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The dim storeroom was instantly filled with green light and a terrifying gust of wind. The muggle with the sword was dead on his feet for a full second before finally dropping to the floor in a lifeless heap.

Vincent stared down at the fragment of black bone in his hand. He had cast the Killing Curse many times before, but his old wand had always been a temperamental bastard. But this thing… this thing reminded him of the old tales about the Elder Wand. A great wand that could produce great magic, even for a lesser wizard like him. That's what the old tales said. Maybe they were true after all.

|0|0|0|

Escaping from the red castle was easy once he put on that tight suit of armor. It also made wandering the streets of the city below easy too. None of these peasants wanted to look a soldier in the eye, much less talk to one. Finding his next victim was a bit harder, since most of the muggles he saw were short and skinny. Around noon Vincent finally found his twin wandering along a busy street in the middle of the sprawling city. After a quick trip into a nearby alley, he had a decent pair of leather boots to go with his new woolen clothes.

The big dead muggle even had a purse full of gold coins strapped to his leather belt, but they weren't Galleons from Gringotts. Instead they were engraved with a crude three-headed dragon on one side, and a bearded bloke on the other. Hopefully these funny coins would be enough for a good meal. Vincent backtracked eight blocks though the shite-covered streets of the city. The pub he had passed earlier in the day looked respectable enough, but the proof of the pudding is always in the tasting.

Inside was a sizable crowd, which is usually a good sign. Vincent sat down at an empty table in the back, and was soon approached by a slim serving wench with light brown hair. She was missing three teeth and her blue eyes were crossed, but if she wanted a shag he wouldn't say no.

Then came the gibberish. This would be the real test of his new wand.

"... a nice venison stew with cabbage and onions. Or how about fried fish served on warm barley bread?"

By Merlin's dangling dingleberries, it worked! During his last trip to Russia he must have tried casting the Translation Charm with his old wand a hundred times, but it never worked. Now this.

"What do you have to drink?" Vincent asked.

"Sweet wine, nettle tea, beer, apple cider, some fine mead."

Good. The charm was omnidirectional. Even Draco had trouble with that.

"I want the venison stew and an unopened bottle of wine."

He threw a gold coin on the table, which earned him a big smile from the serving wench. (Who was missing five teeth, not three.) So, prices were reasonable here. That was a relief. As he waited for the stew, Vincent began eavesdropping on his fellow customers with the skill that would have made that hag Rita Skeeter jealous.

All anyone could talk about was the "Rebellion" by the "Squids", whoever they were. Apparently "King Robert" had set sail with his fleet of war galleys just yesterday. The muggles seemed very nervous. The "Squids" had a fleet of their own—and a reputation as great sailors.

The stew was bland, but Vincent was hungry. He was also confused. This wasn't the world he grew up in. No, this was the past. The distant past. A thousand years at least, he figured. A wizard could travel back in time using a Time-Turner, but only for a few hours. The magic used to bring him here to "King's Landing" was far more powerful. Had his foolish attempt to kill Potter and his friends brought the Dark Lord's vengeance down on his head?

Vincent's musing were cut short when he took his first drink from the bottle of wine. "What the hell do you put in this stuff? Is that tree sap?"

The serving wench closest to him back away in fear, while the other one ran towards the kitchen. Twenty seconds later a terrified cook was standing in front of his table. "Is there something wrong, my Lord?"

"Yes, there is. Why does my bloody wine taste like tree sap?"

The cook looked down at feet, and you could see the sweat pouring down the sides of his bald head. "My Lord, most wines are cut with a small amount of resin. It helps prevent spoilage during long sea voyages."

The explanation sounded reasonable coming from a primitive muggle. "I guess it's not your fault. What else do you have to drink?" His question sent the two serving wenches scurrying, and soon his table was littered with several pewter cups and ceramic mugs.

The nettle tea (served without cream or sugar) was a crime against nature.

The beer was full of grit and barely had any alcohol in it.

The apple cider was sour enough to pucker your sphincter.

Technically the cup of mead wasn't bad, but Vincent had always hated the taste of honey. Well, in truth he hated bees. A nasty encounter with a hive can have that effect, even on a wizard.

"Do you have any Firewhiskey?"

The muggle cook started sweating again. "My Lord, I apologize. But I've never heard of this "Firewhiskey" before. What is it?"

"It's like wine, but with more of a kick. Do you know what I mean?"

"Well, we do have fortified wine. But it's rare and expensive."

"And I'm sure it tastes like tree sap. Never mind. Let's talk about your dessert menu. What would you recommend?"

The conversation that followed upset Vincent even more than the beverage situation. Sugar was in short supply this far north, which meant candy was almost unheard of. Sure they had sweet cakes and fruit tarts, but no real candy. This was a problem. Candy was the central preoccupation of his life. Sure, the Dark Arts were fun. And witches could be great, as long as they didn't talk too much. But candy… at the end of a bad Transfiguration class you could always rely on a Chocolate Frog to put a smile on your face.

While Vincent tried—and failed—to imagine a life without Chocolate Frogs, the cook began fidgeting. His eyes kept darting over to the four large muggles who just walked into the pub. The newcomers were pushy, and for some reason they kept looking down at everyone's feet.

"Who are those louts?" Vincent asked as he fondled his new wand under the table. There was definitely a new hint of violence in the air.

"Those four are sworn men in Little Otto's Troop. Begging your pardon, your Lordship, but even you would be wise to step lightly around them. They're the top dogs in this part of King's Landing."

"Are they wizards?"

The cook let out a nervous laugh. "By the Seven, no. You might be able to find a few wizards or warlocks across the Narrow Sea in Essos, but there certainly none here in Westeros these days."

"No wizards? But you have dragons. They're even on your coins."

"Dragons use to exist, my Lord, but I think the last one died a hundred and fifty years ago during one of those Targaryen civil wars."

"Are you sure there aren't any wizards or witches around here?"

"The Pyromancers claim they can use magic, but everyone knows they're just frauds. The King hates them all, and with good reason. The crazy fools almost burned King's Landing to the ground when the Lannisters sacked the city back during Robert's Rebellion."

 _Is this really a land without wizards and witches_? Vincent wondered.

The existence of dragons was well-known to these muggles, so the International Statute of Secrecy hadn't been enacted yet this far in the past. Were his fellow wizards and witches hiding behind wards? No, that didn't make any sense. Why would they hide if they didn't legally have to?

"Hey, what are you two talking about back here?" one of the muggle louts asked as he approached their table. "I want an answer, and I want to see your boots while you're at it."

Suddenly everything became crystal clear to Vincent as he stared at the stupid lout. He had traveled through time. But even thinking about the magic of temporal mechanics made his brain hurt, so there was no realistic way he could send himself back to the future. That meant he was stuck here in the past forever. And the past sucked: everything smelled, and crappy food alone might drive him to suicide.

On the other hand he now had a great wand, and there didn't seem to be much in the way of magical or muggle competition. (No guns or cannons this far back in time, thank Merlin.) Who knows, maybe King's Landing could use the services of a real wizard. Or maybe even a Dark Lord.

Vincent smiled and put his stolen boots up on the table for everyone to see. "Are you looking for these?"

"You bastard!" the first lout shouted as he pulled out a dagger with a serrated edge. "You killed Little Otto and stripped him naked!"

Vincent's father was a true Death Eater, and he had taught his son how to fight muggles. Surprise and ruthlessness were the keys to victory. To that end he covering his eyes with his left arm before casting a Thunder and Lightening Hex with his wand. The deafening bang and blinding light caught everyone in the pub off guard, and left them disoriented for a few seconds.

And a few seconds was all Vincent needed. He broke the arm of the first lout, which caused his dagger to fall.

The second lout died when that dagger flew across the room and came to a stop deep inside the muggle's left eye.

Vincent tossed a nearby chair at the third lout. In midair the chair's speed increased rapidly, and crushed nearly half the bones in muggle's body.

The fourth lout died in a freak accident when the chain holding the pub's iron chandelier to the ceiling snapped. The impact cracked his skull open.

With all that taken care of, Vincent turned his attention back to the first lout, who was cradling his broken arm and trying not to cry. "Who's in charge of your Troop now that Little Otto is dead? Give _**me**_ an answer, useless you want that other arm broken."

"Soren is running things at the moment," he whimpered.

"Tell Soren I want to talk to him. And if I have to go out and find him myself, his death will be long and painful. Got it?"

That sent the lout running out the pub, and the rest of the customers were only a few steps behind him. Meanwhile the muggle cook was still standing in the same spot. He looked terrified, even more so than before. "Tell me about Little Otto's Troop. What do they control in this part of the city?" Vincent asked as reluctantly took a drink of mead.

"Officially, the Troop doesn't control anything. Unofficially..."

"Let me guess: you offer them a pile of gold coins every week, and in return they agree not to burn your pub to the ground for the next seven days? They also protect you from outsiders. Does it go something like that?" Vincent asked. These kind of "protection rackets" were common in Knockturn Alley and the seedier streets of Hogsmeade.

"Yes, my Lord. That's generally how it works," the cook replied. "You know that the rest of the Troop will come here and kill us, don't you?"

"What about whores and gambling?"

"The brothels have their own armed guards, so they're left alone for the most part. There are many floating dice games on the back streets, but they're profitable only for the winners."

"Amateurs," Vincent muttered.

"What should we do with these three bodies?"

"Who enforces the law here in King's Landing?"

"The Gold Cloaks, but they focus most of their attention on the Red Keep and the main gates. We rarely see them this far from the city walls, and that's doubly true since the start of the Squid's Rebellion."

"Fine, then we leave the bodies where they are for now. They'll serve as a good lesson. By the way, what's your name?"

"Rafe," the cook said. "Didn't you did hear me? They're going to kill us."

"Trust me, we'll be fine. Now go find me something sweet back in the kitchen. And make sure it doesn't taste like honey."

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By the time he finished his apple tart, Little Otto's Troop had arrived en masse at the pub. For a second Vincent wondered if he could kill all of them if things went pear-shape in the next few minutes.

Yes, he could.

"Which one of you is Soren?"

The muggle that stepped forward was tall and ugly and had thick shoulders. Luckily they weren't as thick as Vincent's shoulders. Physical intimidation was critical to good leadership, which is why the muggle looked so unsure of himself as he stepped forward to face a larger man.

"I'm Soren. Who in the Seven Hells are..."

Vincent leaned back in his chair and used a dirty napkin to wipe the brown apple syrup from his chin. "You're going to threaten me, but that would be a waste of time. You know why? Because I'm the one who killed Little Otto and these other three, and I could easily could kill the rest of you. That means from now on I'm in charge of this gang. It won't be bad. I only have three rules for you to follow. One: carry out my orders, and you will become rich and powerful. Two: fail to carry out my orders and you will die like Little Otto. Three: whenever you find a bag of sugar, steal it as soon as possible and bring it back to me."

A few of the muggles laughed, but not many. Vincent was following the methods the Dark Lord used back during his first rise to power. His father told him it was a time-tested formula: excessive violence + excessive confidence = obedience. Sure a few brave souls would fight back, but the majority would quickly fall in line with the new order.

Soren was one of those brave souls, and he began to bluster like a hopeless Gryffindor. Vincent responded by unleashing the transfigured brown bear he had hidden under a transfigured canvas tarp. Being killed by another human being was something most could accept. Being mauled to death by a wild animal was horrifying on a primal level, like something out of a nightmare. That's why it was such a good tactic to use on your enemies. Both Soren and the brown bear were soon dead (the muggle put up a decent fight), but Vincent's point had been made without even standing up.

"Does anyone else want to die?" His question was met with a long silence as they all stared at Soren mangled corpse. The were probably wondering where he got a live bear, and how he got it to attack a specific person on command. "That's what I thought. Now which rival gang here in King's Landing did Little Otto fear the most?"

"The Stranger's Servants," one of his new minions offered. "They control the area of the city around the Dragonpit. Their leader is Kross. He's the scariest… I mean the second scariest man I've ever met."

"Alright, this is what I want done: search the city and find out exactly where Kross will be tonight."

"Why?" another of his minions asked.

"Because I'm going to kill him." Eliminating a powerful and hated rival would quickly cement his position as their new leader. It was another important lesson from the Dark Lord's early days.

"You mean Little Otto's Troop is going to take over the Dragonpit?"

Vincent wanted to use the Cruciatus Curse in the worst way, but he needed to keep his magic abilities—or at least most of them—hidden for now. "Listen to me carefully: we are no longer Little Otto's Troop. From now on we are Lord Crabbe's Bludgers. Got it? Now, what do you do with dead bodies once you've stripped them of their valuables?"

"After sundown we put them in covered wagons, and then we toss them in the Blackwater Bay during the witching hour. In return for a small bribe the Gold Cloaks at the Iron Gate are happy to look the other way, and the eels take care of the evidence."

Vincent finally got to his feet, and his new Bludgers to backed away in fear. It was a satisfying sight. "Fine, then clean up this bloody mess. I'm going to take a nap. Knock on my door when you find out where Kross is hiding."

|O|O|O|

Of course when he said "take a nap", that he really meant was bedding a lusty serving wench. Vincent thought it would be an easy proposition this far back in the past.

It was not.

"Why don't you show me your bedroom upstairs?" he casually asked the one with light brown hair.

Her name was Heather, and she was Rafe's sister-in-law. The bald cook was married to the less attractive serving wench, Hilda, who was Heather's older sister. While both Rafe and Hilda were clearly frightened by his violent outbursts, Heather seemed more... intrigued. Plus she was under the impression that he was a rich Lord, which always helped matters.

"Why don't you give me another gold coin, and I might think about it."

Negotiating a price. That was another skill his father had taught him.

Things progressed slowly over the next hour until Heather finally disrobed up in her tiny bedroom over the pub. Her slim but hairy body didn't bother Vincent. Her very prominent red sores and rashes did.

"You have the Curse of Morgan le Fay upon your quim!" he shrieked

Heather rolled her eyes. "And so do half the other women in King's Landing, although I've never hear it called that name before. Do you want to start now, or is your Lordship too good for the likes of me? Because if that's the case, you aren't getting your gold coins back."

Vincent was torn. The start move would have been to walk out the door. Unfortunately he was horny, so he didn't make the start move. "Get up on the bed. Close your eyes and keep them closed.

"Very well, your Lordship," she smirked.

He took out his new dragon bone wand and cast the special healing charm Headmaster Snape taught every first year Slytherin. In a matter of seconds the numerous red sores and rashes on her groin began to fade away, leaving behind only pale hairy skin.

"What in the names of the Seven are you doing down there?"

"Open your eyes and take a look," he told her in a smug tone.

Heather's self-examination was lengthy and thorough, a sight which made poor Vincent even more horny.

"Are you a warlock from the east?" she finally whispered.

"In my distant homeland we call ourselves wizards and witches."

"Can you raise the dead?"

"No. My spells can fix many problems, but death isn't one of them."

"Can you show me more of your wondrous magic?"

Again, the smart move would have been to walk out the door. Unfortunately Heather was naked and awe in her voice was making him incredibly horny. He should have tried bedding a muggle girl before. They were easy to impress.

"Close your eyes again. Then open your mouth wide, and keep it open."

It took a few minutes of intense concentration, but when he was finished the girl had her five missing teeth back. He also removed the cavities and yellow tartar from her older teeth. He figured if you were going to do something like this for a person, you might as well Exceed Expectations.

Heather couldn't believe what her tongue and ten fingers were telling her, so she got out of the bed (her pert arse was a sight to behold) and checked her reflection in the bedroom's small window.

That's when she decided to ravished him.

Vincent had never been ravished before. He was strictly a "sixty seconds worth of the missionary position" kind of wizard. Heather even smiled down at him as she galloped away. No girl had smiled at him before. Not ever. And afterwards she wanted to stay in bed and cuddle. This was all uncharted territory for the confused teenager.

Heather couldn't stop running her tongue over her new teeth, an act that he found fascinating for some reason. "Lord Crabbe, could you heal my sister Hilda and other women as you healed me?"

Now that Vincent's brain was temporally clear of raging hormones, he gave the matter some thought before replying. "I suppose so, but Hilda is my last charity case. The others would have to be rich. Very rich. Or at least very beautiful. Do you know the kind of women I'm talking about?"

"The courtesans at the better brothels. The wives of the great merchants. The more adventurous and high-ranking Septas. And of course the ladies at the Red Keep. Those sad women need your help most of all."

He looked down at Heather. Her blue eyes were still crossed, but that just made her face more interesting. "I could use a secretary. Someone to seek out these rich women. You would explain how I could help them, and how much that help would cost. Up front and in gold, of course. You would also have to arrange all the appointments."

"Would I get a cut of the action?"

"A five percent commission sounds reasonable, but only if you keep things quiet. The less attention I get, the better I like it. Do we have a deal?"

She responded by ravishing him again.

|O|O|O|

In truth the Battle of the Dragonpit—as it was later called by the proud Bludgers—wasn't much of a battle. Vincent first saw his target Kross at a distance. The leader of the Stranger's Servants was tall and lean, but clearly not a weakling. He only met the Dark Lord in person a few times, but this muggle had the same aura of cold violence surrounding him.

Vincent wasn't afraid per se, but he wasn't eager to take any chances either. That's why he cast a Disillusionment Charm on his body, and went in alone without the any of the Bludgers.

The Dragonpit itself—where Kross was having a meeting with his top lieutenants—was a revelation.

A terrible revelation.

Vincent had visited the famous Dragon Preserve in Romania, and he was expecting something similar inside the huge ruined dome. What he found instead were rusted chains and cramped prison cells where the muggles must have tortured the miserable dragons for years on end. There was an echo of magic clinging to the old stone walls, and Vincent was sure that its source was the blood of the countless dragons murdered there.

That sad echo of magic brought a tear to his eye.

That single tear filled him with rage.

These primitive muggles saw dragons as nothing more than beasts of burden. To actually fly on the back of a dragon, and to force it to take part in their silly muggle wars… it was a crime against magic itself.

Vincent silently marched towards the Stranger's Servants and began slaughtering them. The Killing Curse was too good for Kross and his men. No, the curses he used that night were the darkest of the Dark Arts. Blood was slowly boiled and entrails were violently ruptured. The muggle's screams were loud enough to escape the highest point of the ruined dome. It was a fitting lament for those lost dragons.

Those screams also caught the attention the rest of the Stranger's Servants. The guards posted outside soon rushed in to help their leader. What they found instead was Vincent. He was surrounded by dead bodies and drenched in warm blood.

"My name is Lord Crabbe, and I am looking for recruits."

As before a few brave souls rejected his offer. They died quickly. A few others ran, but the bulk of the Stranger's Servants would join Lord Crabbe's Bludgers in hours that followed. It was a productive night's work.

|O|O|O|

After killing two of the worst criminals in the city in less than ten hours, Vincent decided he needed to lay low for a few days. He wanted to see how the other gang leaders were going to react to his opening moves. He was also curious so see if the Gold Cloaks would continue to ignore him. With the Squid's Rebellion in full swing, they seemed more concerned with guarding the walls of King's Landing than what was happening inside the city itself. But he wasn't sure how long that state of affairs would last.

Vincent kept himself busy by fortifying the Dragonpit, both physically and magically. There was just enough ambient magic in the old building to support some minor wards. These mostly reinforced the walls, but he also slipped in a tiny ward to repel mosquitoes and flies. The lack of insects and cool breezes (the Dragonpit sat high on a hill with a clear view of the Blackwater Bay) made the place almost bearable.

The Bludgers were not idle either. In addition to consolidating their new territory, Vincent also had them out hunting for certain supplies.

"I can understand why you want us to steal sugar since it's so pricey, but what do you need all these copper sheets for?" Bronn asked. "And beets? Who eats beets, besides starving farmers in the dead of winter?"

Vincent had quickly identified the wolfish swordsman as one of his most promising minions. Bronn was around Vincent's age, so he had no problem taking orders from a young man. He was also a cunning and ruthless killer with great ambitions. In a better time with better blood, he would have been sorted into Slytherin for sure.

"We need the copper for my new stills. We're going to be making Firewhiskey, brandy, cheap moonshine, and maybe rum if…"

"I had some black tar rum once on a sailing ship off the coast of Dorne," Bronn offered. "It tasted like watery shite."

"Everything you primitives drink tastes like watery shite," Vincent snapped. "You have no idea how to properly brew anything. I even found a few pots of Greek Fire down in the basement of the Dragonpit, and the recipe they used to make the stuff is all wrong."

"What's Greek Fire?"

"It's a thick potion that burns for a long time when you light it on fire. It's also hard to put out. It's a lot of fun to play with, actually. Or it used to be."

"Are you talking about wildfire?" Bronn asked.

"Is that what you call it here in Westeros?"

"Aye. Listen, if you know how to make proper wildfire, you should go and have a chat with the Pyromancers."

"I thought they were unpopular with King Robert and his court."

"They are," Bronn admitted. "But their Alchemists' Guild is old and still very rich. They could also provide you with lots of skilled hands. I doubt if many of the Bludgers can make a decent breakfast, let alone something complex and dangerous as wildfire."

"I will think about it once things have calmed down a bit," Vincent said. Secretly he was pleased to have such a clever minion, especially one who couldn't use a wand. "Have we heard anything from the other gangs? Is anyone planning on attacking the Dragonpit yet?"

"No, you have most of them too unsettled for now. In fact a few gangs from Flea Bottom have already approached us, asking to join the Bludgers."

"Isn't Flea Bottom the worst slum in this entire city?"

"True, but think about it: they might not have much gold to offer, but they do have plenty of strong backs you could put to use."

"Send word to their leaders that I want a meeting with them this afternoon. And make sure they don't get here until after my nap is over."

"Isn't it hard to take a nap when you're sharing a bed with two or three ladies at once?" Bronn asked in all seriousness.

Vincent's new secretary Heather had already procured a steady stream of rich women in need of his unique healing spells. In addition to the large bags of gold coins they brought with them, a surprising number also wanted to thank him with a shag. He didn't insist on it, but he didn't say no either. Some days it was great to be the only wizard in a city full of muggles.

"My new lady friends go away happy, don't they?"

"I suppose so, as hard as that is to believe. Now about those beets…"

"We need as many as the Bludgers can find. It fact they should start getting in touch with farmers out in the countryside. We're going to need a large and steady supply of the highest quality beets they can produce."

"Aye, but what are they for?" Bronn asked.

"Sugar."

"That's impossible. You can't make sugar out of beets."

"You can't, but I can," Vincent explained. "I admit that sugarcane is easier to work with, but the climate around King's Landing doesn't support sugarcane. The plant only grows in the tropics." He paused a moment to silently thank Professor Sprout for her great skill as a teacher. "Fortunately you can grow beets here in Westeros. If I want a large amount of sugar in a reasonable amount of time, that's what I'm going to have to use. That reminds me, we'll need a lot of crushed limestone to make the milk of lime. Or maybe we can just use crushed seashells, since we're so close to the beach."

Now Bronn looked annoyed. "Seashells? You're no smarter than me, so how can you know all these secrets at your age? Did you study at the Citadel when you were a boy?"

"No, I didn't not study at your pathetic Citadel. I went to greatest school in the world for seven years, and I was taught by geniuses," Vincent said, and he meant it. From his perspective all the professors at Hogwarts had been geniuses—even Trelawny and Hagrid. "And a word of advice: in future mind your tongue. Among the things I learned at school was the secret of ultimate pain. How would you like a taste of that?"

"I'd rather not, Lord Crabbe, if it's all the same to you."

After dismissing his minion with a gesture, the wizard began reminiscing about the many long hours he use to spend at Honeydukes. Old Ambrosius love to talk about the process of making candy, and Vincent had started writing down all the recipes he could remember. If the incompetent cooks of King's Landing couldn't satisfy his sweet tooth, then he would just have to take matters into his own hands.


	2. Chapter 2

From above the city of King's Landing looked like a square drawn by a dim toddler. In the northeast corner of this irregular square sat the massive Red Keep. The Dragonpit wasn't exactly in the northwest corner of the square, but it was in that general area.

Lying between the Dragonpit and the Red Keep were two very different neighborhoods. One was the slum of Flea Bottom, which was now a stronghold of Lord Crabbe's Bludgers. The other neighborhood was full of leafy streets and grand mansions. It made sense for the rich to flock there: they were close to both the cool breezes of the Blackwater Bay and the political power of the Red Keep. Expanding towards that exclusive area of the city would be a bad idea politically, at least for now.

So Vincent had to turn his eyes elsewhere. The southern half of King's Landing was cut (roughly) in half by the Great Sept of Baelor, which sat atop Visenya's Hill. Getting too close to the Great Sept this early in the game would almost be as bad as getting too close to the Red Keep. That meant that if the Bludgers were going to expand their influence, the southwest corner of the city was their next logical target.

Unfortunately the other gang leaders could figure that out as well.

Up until now the Bludgers' string of victories were built on assassinations. Vincent would use his magic to strike at night without any warning. That was how he dealt with the Shadow Rangers, the Warrior's Orphans, and the Street of Flour Furies. With their leaders massacred, the foot soldiers of these gangs either fled or joined the Bludgers.

The leaders of the Silk Swords, the Smith's Hammers, the Copper Axes, and the Crone's Black Cats knew they were his next targets. In desperation they formed a temporary alliance with one goal in mind: to kill that fat bastard Lord Crabbe before he could kill all of them.

Their tactics were clever too. Since they believed Lord Crabbe was nothing more than a sneaky assassin, they assembled an army to kill him. The four gangs gathered their forces together in Clobbers' Square one night, and dared their cowardly enemy to attack.

"Why won't Lord Crabbe come out and fight us? Is he scared?" they jeered for hours on that first night.

Or so Bronn claimed. His top minion seemed to enjoy giving his intelligence report a bit too much. "They think you're afraid of anyone who can hit back. They're calling you a namby-pamby boy. They say you're a milksop who runs home every morning so you can suck on your fat momma's tits. They also calling you a..."

"I get the idea!" Vincent roared. This public humiliation was more than a proud Slytherin like him could bear. "Heather, cancel all my appointments for the next week. I have some real work to do."

Up until now, Vincent had neglected the Bludgers for the most part so he could focus on healing rich women and building his first copper still inside the Dragonpit. After all, his minions knew how to terrorize and extort the stupid muggles of King's Landing far better than he did.

But open warfare… that was a different story.

Vincent quickly made his way down to the deepest basement of the Dragonpit. Down there in the dark—hidden behind a thick iron door covered with nasty wards—was his new treasure vault. He grabbed four bags full of gold coins and tossed them at Bronn. His new career as a healer was proving to be a lucrative one. If only Greg could see him now.

"Have the Bludgers start buying leather jerkins, trousers, gloves, boots, and helmets. Enough for each man to have a complete set. And the more skin the leather covers, the better. Especially the helmets."

"Plain old leather won't be of much use in…"

That was as far as Bronn got, because Vincent decided it was the perfect moment to introduce him to the Cruciatus Curse. It lasted for only a second, but that second was the longest in Bronn's life. It was more than enough to get his undivided attention and ensure his future obedience.

"There are times when you can question my orders. This is not one of them. I also need a few hundred bats. The size and shape aren't important, but make sure they're made out of solid wood," Vincent said before tossing another bag of gold coins at his minion, who was still lying on the ground, moaning. "And get yourself a new sword while you're out shopping."

|0|0|0|

After six days of exhausting work they were finally ready for their enemies. On the seventh day Vincent slept like the dead until sunset. Then on the seventh night Lord Crabbe's Bludgers marched out of the Dragonpit looking almost like a respectable army. Their mismatched clothes could pass for uniforms, since everything they wore was made out of cheap leather. Their banner held Vincent's new sigil: a fierce black crab on a field of green. The Bludgers were passing around jugs of fresh moonshine and shouting their Lord's new words—"Fear Our Claws"—as they marched south through the dark and narrow streets of King's Landing.

They were a confident bunch, but they had good reason to be.

The Battle of Clobbers' Square soon began, and it was completely devoid of any tactics. Once the Bludgers came into view, the members of the "Kill Lord Crabbe" alliance charged. The two armies smashed together like two glops of liquid, and quickly form a single mass at the northern end of the Square.

Despite the chaos, Vincent wasn't worried. No, he was thrilled. This was just like being a Beater in a Quidditch match back home. But instead of smashing an iron Bludger, he was smashing muggle skulls.

Like any Beater worth his salt, Vincent knew all the various protective charms used in modern Quidditch. There was no telling when an opponent might strip those charms off your uniform during a match to secure an advantage. Slytherins had be able to recast those charms on the fly before they were allowed to join the house team. It was a precaution Snape insisted upon to protect his pureblood students.

As a result the leather worn by the Bludgers that night was as strong as the best plate armor, but weighed only a fraction as much. The other gangs attacked with swords and axes and daggers, but to their surprise none of their weapons could penetrate this strange new leather. In desperation their enemies began aiming for exposed areas like the face and forearms and ankles, but it took time to make those adjustments.

It was time they didn't have, because the Bludgers were on the offensive with their new Beater bats. Those bats were seen as a weakness at first glance. A hunk of wood can do damage in a fight, but not nearly as much as a bladed weapon. Luckily for the Bludgers their new magically-enhanced bats were strong enough to break rocks despite their light weight. The old shields and piecemeal armor used by the other gangs were smashed to pieces with a single blow. And what these bats did to an unprotected human body was devastating.

However his best move had been the jugs of moonshine. Fresh out the new copper still, the alcohol content was so high you could light it on fire. The Bludgers loved the stuff, and it did wonders for their fighting spirit.

Vincent made his way to the center of the battle. He wasn't even tempted to use his dragon bone wand. Instead he had a long bat in each hand, and every swing of this arms sent another muggle crumpling to the ground.

"No prisoners!" he yelled over and over. "No prisoners!"

"Fear Our Claws!" his Bludgers added. "Fear Our Claws!"

The Battle of Clobbers' Square took less than twenty minutes from start to finish, and it was massacre. Vincent knew that if he wiped out the the Silk Swords, the Smith's Hammers, the Copper Axes, and the Crone's Black Cats in single night the south side of King's Landing would fall into his lap. And it did. No other gang leader in their right mind wanted to face the Bludgers now.

"Orders?" Bronn asked when it was all over. His new steel sword was a thing of beauty, and it was covered with fresh blood from the point to the hilt.

Vincent drew his wand and discreetly cast a Thunder and Lighting Hex. That was a sign for the wagons to move forward from the side streets. "Strip the bodies and keep any gold you can find," he finally shouted, which earned him loud cheers from the surviving Bludgers. "Load our wounded on the wagons flying my banner, and pile the dead on the other ones. I want to be out of here and back at the Dragonpit before sunrise."

Heather was sitting in largest of the Bludgers' wagons, and she flew into his arms when he climbed up the small ladder. "That was incredible, Lord Crabbe. You slaughtered those sad weaklings."

"Yeah, I sure did," Vincent said as he ran his hands over her silk-covered arse. "Did you bring the blindfolds like I asked?"

"Yes, my Lord. Are you ready to start?"

Healing the wounded (and blindfolded) Bludgers in the back of those wagons was in some ways more important than winning the battle out in Clobbers' Square. Vincent's knowledge of healing spells strictly limited. For instance he never attempted to fix Heather's crossed eyes, since he was afraid he might accidently blind her. However with all these wounded men—most of whom were dying—he could test how far his magic could go.

Not far at all, he quickly discovered as he moved from wagon to wagon.

Cleaning up infections and replacing smashed teeth? Those were his specialties, but he already knew that.

Healing the damage caused by swords and daggers was simple enough—even the deepest cuts that went down to the bone.

Fixing the bones themselves? That was more complicated. If a break was clean, he could usually fuse the two halves back together. If a break caused the bone to fragment into several pieces, Vincent's attempts at healing were a toss of the dice. Some of the Bludgers regained full use of their legs or arms, while others were left with useless limbs.

But a stab wound to the heart? That particular Bludger (who lost his leather jerkin sometime during the battle) died screaming when Vincent tried casting his most advanced healing spell. The same thing happened when he tried to heal a stab wound to another man's belly.

And healing a head injury of any kind? His spells caused nothing but violent seizures and gushing nosebleeds. All four of the Bludgers he tried to save that night died less than a minute after he spoke his incantations.

It was a sobering experience for the young wizard, but Heather thought he was being a fool. "You saved over half of the wounded men, and they'll be back at work by tomorrow. Your magic is a thousand time better than what those stupid Maesters can do, and don't you think otherwise."

|0|0|0|

Vincent tried to open his eyes, but they weren't cooperating. He had hangovers before, but this was ridiculous. How many jugs of moonshine did he finish off when they reached the Dragonpit? And why wasn't he in his soft bed anymore?

"Boy, can you hear me?"

Yes, he bloody well could, and that commanding voice was just enough to motivate his lazy eyes.

"For the love of Merlin's slimy snot," Vincent muttered as he looked around.

He was right back where he started: in that tiny forest in the middle of the Red Keep. At least he wasn't naked this time, and his wand was still in his back pocket. Unfortunately he was shackled to a huge oak tree with several heavy chains. And around the perimeter of the tiny forest were a hundred Gold Cloaks holding crossbows—all of which were pointed directly at him.

That meant his chances of escaping the Red Keep again were nil.

Panic gripped Vincent, and for a moment he seriously considered Apparition. It was the only form of magical transportation he could use. He once saw Lucius Malfoy make a portkey, but he had no idea how to do it himself. Setting up a Floo Network took years of work, and NEWTs in both Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. A racing broom would be a wonderful tool to have this far back in the past, except you needed NEWTs in Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, _**and**_ Charms to build one.

That left Apparition as his only option, and Apparition meant the possibility of splinching. Vincent had lost both of his arms and legs (and one of his testicles) to splinching accidents during the past few years, and prospect of it happening again scared the shite out of him. Without a trained healer could he reattach a missing limb by himself, or would he just bleed to death?

"I know you're awake boy, so look at me."

Somehow Vincent managed to get his panic under controlled. He turned to study the muggles who had captured him with such easy. Three men were sitting on the long marble bench in front of him. The one in the center was clearly a soldier, but an old and feeble one. At his side sat two fat men. Well, the bald one wearing the purple robes was only sort of fat. The one wearing the brown robes (and a glass hat of all things) was really fat. Vincent saw his future self sitting there on that bench, and he didn't like it one bit. He doubted that Heather would like it much either.

"Yes, I'm awake," he finally answered. Vincent tried to think of what Snape would do in a situation like this. To his mind the Headmaster was the ultimate Slytherin, and he always knew what to say. Then it came to him. "You haven't killed me yet, so you must want something from me."

"What we want is answers," the old soldier said. "I am Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King. They tell me you are a warlock. We don't much like warlocks or their foul magic here in Westeros."

"Actually I'm a wizard, if that helps matters any."

"It does not. Especially when your magic involves claiming the virtue of our honorable young ladies."

Vincent thought about that statement for a moment before replying. "I don't know what you've been told, but my magic doesn't depend on the blood of virgins—not that any of those women were virgins by the way. That was just some harmless fun we had afterwards."

"Liar!" the bald one in the purple robes hissed. "Magic is impossible without the sacrifice of blood. I know that for a fact."

"Piss off, muggle. You don't know anything about magic."

"Perhaps, but I do know that you're a complete imbecile. There are hundreds of castles and temples scattered across Westeros, but only here in King's Landing can you find a structure like the Dragonpit. It is famous throughout the entire world. Yet you claimed it for yourself and for your new cult. Thanks to your arrogance everyone of importance in city knows who and exactly what you are."

"Eunuch, that's enough of your bile," an annoyed Lord Arryn said.

"You have to understand that a warlock once cut off Varys' cock and balls, so he hates your kind," the really fat one in the brown robes added. "But that doesn't make him wrong. So wizard, is there any compelling reason shouldn't we have you killed today?"

"Killed? Am I on trial or something?"

"Yes, you are," Varys said. "And if we—your three judges—give the word, the Gold Cloaks will fill your accursed hide full of crossbow bolts."

"What am I on trial for?" Vincent asked, stalling for time.

"High Septon, read out the charges," Lord Arryn commanded.

The really fat one reached for a scroll at his side, and began reading: "You are charged with blasphemy for entering the Godswood while naked. You are charged with escaping from the dungeons of the Red Keep. You are charged with murdering a member of the City Watch, and with stealing his armor. You are charged with personally murdering no less than ten loyal subjects of the Crownlands. You are charged with instigating a riot last night in the middle of Cobbler's Square which resulted in the death of two hundred and six loyal subjects of the Crownlands. You are charged with impersonating a member of the high nobility, which involves the violation of several clauses of the King's Law including but not limited to..."

The grin on Varys' face kept growing as the charges piled up. Vincent really wanted to kill the bastard, but he had to be focus. This whole trial smelled wrong. These muggles knew he was a wizard, but they didn't know what he was capable of when provoked. The Gold Cloaks hadn't even confiscated his wand or his other belongings.

 _The smart move would've been to cut my throat while I was sleeping_ , Vincent thought. _That's how I would have done it_.

"How do you plead?" Lord Arryn asked when High Septon was done.

Tell the truth or lie? Definitely lie. "Not guilty."

Varys rolled his beady little eyes before turning to face the other judges. "You have both seen the evidence I've gathered. We are all busy men, so let us put an end to this farce. I vote guilty."

The High Septon shrugged his shoulders. "Guilty, I suppose."

"Guilty," Lord Arryn added. "Do you wish to take the black?"

Then the old soldier did something odd: he grabbed his chin with one hand and moved his jaw up and down. When his mouth was opened Vincent got his first clear view of the man's teeth and saw that over half of them were missing. After that the two locked eyes for a moment.

Vincent was no genius, but even he could recognize a message when he saw one. He looked around at the Gold Cloaks with their crossbows, and then at the eunuch who clearly wanted him dead. Should he go with his instincts and trust this muggle Lord Arryn, or should he try a risky Apparition?

"I really must protest," Varys said. "We can not allow this monstrous abomination to escape justice by joining the…"

That sealed it. "I will take the black."

|0|0|0|

An hour later he had a visitor to his new cell in the dungeons: Lord Arryn. It didn't happen often, but there were times when Vincent thought the Sorting Hat made the right choice when it placed him in Slytherin.

"You do want something from me after all."

The muggle ignored his question and started asking his own. "None of the Gold Cloaks saw you enter the Red Keep, so how do you reach the Godswood? We couldn't find your clothes either—where are they?"

Again Vincent thought about escaping, but he knew a dozen crossbow bolts were waiting for him outside that cell door. He decided to play along until a better opportunity presented itself. "I don't know how I got there. I was taking part in a great battle far away from King's Landing, and I almost died. But then I suddenly found myself in Godswood, as you call it. Without any clothes."

"Ned was right all those years ago," Lord Arryn whispered to himself. "The Old Gods didn't abandon us. We abandoned them."

"What are you talking about?"

"I don't have time to explain. Tell me the truth: is your magic real?"

"You want me to fix your teeth," Vincent guessed. If that was the price of getting out of this dungeon without a fight, he would gladly pay it.

"So the witnesses Varys found and brought before us weren't lying. Yes, I want you to fix my teeth, among other things."

The procedure went off without a hitch. After Lord Arryn inspected his new teeth, Vincent was expecting a thank you. Instead the old soldier unbuckled his belt and dropped his fine trousers. He was suffering under the Curse of Morgan Le Fay, and he was suffering badly if those oozing red sores were anything to go by.

"Let's just wait a second," Vincent yelled as he backed away to the far side of the cell. "You hinted that I should take the black. What does that mean?"

"Restore my manhood to health, and I will tell you."

"No, you'll tell me now, or I going to hurt you. Badly."

"If I die here you will never leave the Red Keep alive, let alone King's Landing. Trust me, Varys will see to that."

"Fuck the eunuch," Vincent snarled. "Now for the love of Merlin would you please cover up, and tell me what's going on."

"Very well," Lord Arryn said as he finally pull up his trousers. "The tale the High Septon spoke of is true. Varys did lose his manhood to a warlock when was just a child, and as a result his hatred of magic knows no limits. As the Master of Whisperers he has spies everywhere, and he knows how to hire the best cut-throats. Varys wanted to have you killed back at the Dragonpit, but I insisted on capturing you so we could have a formal trial. It was the only way I could think of to keep you alive."

"Because you need me to lift Curse on your... manhood?"

"Several ladies of the court claim you possess this strange healing power, and I have need of it. As does my wife. Despite our long years of marriage, I still have no legitimate heir. That is why the Old Gods sent you to me. I can see that clearly now."

A proud father desperate for an heir. As a pureblood Vincent could understand that kind of motivation, and he could use it as leverage. "How do I know you won't just kill me once I've cured you and your wife of the Curse? What kind of guarantees are you offering me?"

"You have my word of honor, which is all the guarantee you need," Lord Arryn snapped. "We must get you beyond Varys' reach as soon as possible, but that will take some doing. The eunuch is originally from Essos, so he has many spies in the Free Cities and in Slaver's Bay. Your best option would be the far North, where the Old Gods are still worshipped. That is why I wanted you to take the black."

"I still have no idea what "taking the black" means," Vincent growled.

Lord Arryn smiled for the first time. "Forgive me, but it's difficult to imagine a man could be ignorant of the Wall. To take the black means to join the Night's Watch. The brothers of the..."

The more Vincent heard about the Night's Watch, the less he liked it. Living right next to giant wall of ice in the middle of a frozen wasteland? And no wives or children? That alone was a deal-breaker. "Sorry, but I have no intention of joining this Night's Watch of ours. How about I just killed Varys instead. You don't seem to like him anymore than I do."

"I do despise the eunuch, but the Realm can't afford to lose such a skillful Master of Whisperers. Not with the Iron Islands in full rebellion. No, Varys must remain where he is for now, and it is you who must leave King's Landing if you wish to remain alive."

Vincent knew a bluff when he heard one. This muggle would gladly see the whole Realm burn if that was the price of gaining an heir, especially at his age. "If you want my help, certain conditions will have to be met. One, Varys dies. Two, my recent conviction must be overturned. Three, have the Crown sign over legal ownership of the Dragonpit to me personally. If you want a healthy heir, none of those conditions are negotiable."

Lord Arryn responded by drawing his sword. "How dare you issue demands to the Hand of the King, you impudent cur."

"You're wasting time," Vincent said in a bored voice. He held all the high cards, and it was only a matter of time until this fool realized it too.

|0|0|0|

It wasn't fair, the wizard thought. Add a stone or two (or three) to a man, and he automatically becomes fat. Add a stone or two to a woman, and she becomes voluptuous. And real men love voluptuous women.

"Stop staring at me and get on with it," the naked Lysa Arryn snarled as he continued with his less-than-professional examination. The muggle woman was a lush mellon, but her personality was sour to the core.

A few minutes later he had restored both the Lord and Lady to perfect reproductive health. "Remember: I've lifted the Curse, but it can return again if either of you shags another infected person."

Lady Arryn gave Vincent a calculated looked as she continued to button-up her blue dress. Of course Lord Arryn chose to take offence like a doltish Gryffindor. "Are you questioning the honor of my wife?"

"No, I'm just offering you some advice."

"Do you have any other advice for us?" Lady Arryn asked.

If there was one subject that fascinated all pureblood witches, it was pregnancy. Miscarriages and infertility were depressing common among the older families, so they were always eager to hear about the latest medical advances—even if those advances came from the muggles. As a child Vincent had overheard countless conversations between his mother and her friends about prenatal healthcare.

"Don't drink any wine or mead until after your child is born," he offered.

"Are you being serious?"

"Yes, and that goes for your husband too. You should be shagging at least two or three times a day in the weeks between your monthlies, and it's almost impossible for a man his age to get it up while drunk."

Lord Arryn sputtered in embarrassment, a fact which seemed to amuse his wife. "Tell me more, wizard. If I can't drink wine, then what can I drink?"

"Stick to water that's been boiled for at least several minutes."

"Boiled water?" Lady Arryn whined.

"Do you want a healthy heir or not? Because if you do, you're going to have make certain sacrifices. If drinking safe water is too hard for you, you can always add freshly-squeezed juice from a lemon. And sugar. Lots and lots of sugar. It's called lemonade, and I'm sure you'll like it."

"It might be a little hard to find sugar in King's Landing, with your gang of ruffians stealing it all," Lord Arryn complained.

"Then import some more from the south," Vincent said— _that way there would be more for the Bludgers to steal_. "Now where was I before you interrupted me? Oh yes, drinks. Stay away from herbal tea and milk. In fact the local milk is full of terrible bugs, so avoid cheese and butter altogether. Well-cooked fish and meat is fine, especially the kidneys. Eating a wide variety of clean fruit and vegetables is essential for good health, but that's true for everyone, not just expecting mothers."

"I don't like vegetables," Lady Arryn whined again.

"Of course you don't, since the stupid cooks here in King's Landing boil them into tasteless mush. The key is to steam them."

"How exactly do you steam a vegetable?"

"Take a pot of boiling water and place a metal grate on top of it. You put the vegetables on the grate, and the hot steam rising from the boiling water slowly cooks them. That way you get tender broccoli and carrots that taste great, instead of green and orange mush you won't feed to a dog. You know what else is important: exercise."

The muggles looked confused by that word. "What is exercise?" Lady Arryn asked.

Vincent scratched his short hair. "You know, going outdoors and doing… stuff. Running around until you've worked up a good sweat. Don't your soldiers do things like that when they're training?"

"I am not a soldier. What about horseback riding?"

"No horseback riding for an expectant mother. That would be a bad idea. Why don't you try walking around the Red Keep for an hour each day."

"Walking around? Doing what?"

"I don't know. Have your handmaidens walk with you, and... "

"Crabbe, are you quite done organizing my wife's diet and social calendar?" Lord Arryn snapped. "You might be safe here in the Tower of the Hand for the moment, but Varys and his spies are still waiting for you out there in the city. He will have you killed the first chance he gets."

Vincent figured the muggle would try to worm his way out their recent agreement. After all, it had been made under duress. "Just tell me where the eunuch is, and he'll be dead soon enough."

"Varys is too valuable…"

"Petyr would make an excellent Master of Whisperers," Lady Arryn offered. "I have told you this before. He is brilliant enough for job, and House Baelish has sworn allegiance to House Arryn for over eighty years. Wouldn't it be nice to have someone on the Small Council you can trust? Someone who can faithfully carry out your orders without question or complaint."

"He might be capable…"

"Petyr is capable—there is no question of that. This wizard is offering you a chance to be rid of that slimy eunuch and strengthen your position on the Small Council at the same time. I say we take it."

"Killing Varys won't solve all your problems," Lord Arryn argued. "The High Septon might not care whether you live or die, but the Faith of the Seven has always frown upon magic and those who yield it."

Vincent rolled his eyes. "I seen the High Septon's type before. As long as I keep the gold flowing into his pocket, we'll remain the best of friends."

"What about the Gold Cloaks? You killed of one of their men during your escape from the Red Keep. They aren't likely to forget that."

"From what I've heard, the Gold Cloaks are even more eager to take bribes than the High Septon. We will come to an acceptable arrangement soon enough."

Lady Arryn gave him a perfect aristocratic sneer that would have made Daphne Greengrass jealous. "Tell me wizard, where are you going to get the gold to pay for all these new friends of yours? Will you conjure it out of thin air like the old stories claim?"

"Yeah, something like that."

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 **Author's Note** : Why didn't Vincent demand a trial by combat? That option is only available to nobles. For mere commoners the legal system of Westeros is nasty, brutish, and short.


End file.
